


See You Tomorrow

by Amadrei



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Age Difference, Age Swap, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Angry Kissing, Bottom Michael, Creepy Lucifer, Insecure Michael, Jealousy, Lucifer Being a Dick, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nude Modeling, Snakes, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-24
Updated: 2015-01-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 14:46:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2352149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amadrei/pseuds/Amadrei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Lucifer Milton is an absolute dick. History major Michael Shurley knew this from the very first encounter with the man, yet he clung to some hope that the art professor would show <em>some</em> kind of politeness. But no--it was the same thing every day. Arrive at Building D, room 445 at 8pm. Strip, sit down, and model for an hour or two. "Shut up," any time Michael tried to start conversation, and a "See you tomorrow," before Michael could even ask to see Lucifer's work.</p><p>And then he screwed it all up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find this fic on my writing blog on tumblr: <http://amadrabbles.tumblr.com>

This was ridiculous. Michael was ridiculous. Never in a million years would he ever agree to do this, but for some reason, he was convinced to do this by some smooth-talking, creepy, charismatic asshole when all Michael wanted was a goddamned latte from the university’s café.

He had barely made it two steps outside into the chilly autumn air, cold enough that it bit through his maroon scarf and matching mittens, when he heard that voice behind him say, “Excuse me, do you have a minute?”

Michael turned to face the inquirer. He was a man who appeared around forty years of age, with messy blond hair and slight stubble. He was dressed rather smartly—wearing sensible dark denim blue jeans and a black peacoat with the collar popped ( _Douchebag,_ Michael thought), an olive green scarf peeking from beneath it. What enraptured the 23 year old most, however, was the man’s striking ice blue eyes—they were cold and arrogant, and Michael could _feel_ the disdain for humanity in them, even through the black browline glasses the man wore.

“Oh, well—I mean, I have to get to class rather quickly,” Michael said truthfully, appearing apologetic.

“I’ll walk with you,” the man replied. “I’m a professor here. If you’re late, you have an excuse.”

Michael took an anxious sip of his latte, nearly burning his tongue. He really didn’t want to be late, but— “Am I in trouble, Professor?”

“What is your name?” the man asked, easily stepping in time with the brunet as he blatantly ignored his question. Michael grit his teeth. That was rude of him, professor or not.

“Michael Shurley. Professor, I ask again—am I in tr—“

“Lucifer Milton.”

“Professor Milton, would you please—“

“Drop the “Professor.” Hell, drop the “Milton.” Just call me Lucifer.”

Michael was irritated, and he was doing no such thing. Not for this asshole. “ _Professor Milton,_ ” he grit out, though he saw from the corner of his eye, a smirk slide onto the man’s face. Oh, great. Now the asshole thinks he’s funny. Michael took an angry sip of his latte. “I would appreciate it if you would stop interrupting me, and if you would stop dodging my question. Am I in troub—“

“No, you are not, Michael.”

The brunet felt a twinge of irritation at the casual use of his first name, and he felt like uncapping his drink and splashing it in the man’s smug face for interrupting him yet again, if such an action wouldn’t likely get him both expelled and sued. He gripped the cup a little tighter. “Then what do you want?”

Lucifer appeared pleased. “As I told you, I am a professor. I am an art professor, to be precise. I teach charcoal drawing and oil painting.”

“Oh? That’s nice,” Michael said, more as a means of being polite than actually meaning it.

“Yes,” Lucifer agreed, ignoring the grumbling tone Michael’s voice was laced with and instead accepting the vague praise unapologetically. “Unfortunately this semester, I have a lot of free time, due to not having as many students.”

“I wonder why,” Michael replied sarcastically.

The blond shot him a look. “…The board has cut down on the number of classes the art department has. Typical, you know—the art and music departments are always the first to see a decrease in funding.”

…Oh. Michael almost felt bad. He took another sip of his latte, albeit sheepishly this time. “What does that have to do with me?” he asked.

Lucifer smiled at this, and he quickened his pace to step in front of Michael, who nearly ran into him. He stopped just on time, a little bit of his latte sloshing up through the hole in the lid and spilling onto his mitten.

Michael reconsidered splashing this asshole in the face.

“I have a lot of free time,” the older man repeated, “so I’ve taken to drawing or painting a lot more images, for personal growth and gain. But I’m growing a bit sick and tired of drawing still-life over and over again, and I would like to study a life model. To be quite frank, I’d like for you to model for me.”

Green eyes stared into icy blue with an air of incredulity, several beats of silence passing between them, before Michael side-stepped Lucifer and started to scurry down the sidewalk. “You’re ludicrous!” He yelled.

“Michael—”

“That’s Mr. Shurley to you, you creep! No—why am I still talking to you? Leave me alone.”

“I’m particular about who I choose to model for me, Michael.” Damn. The creep was following him. Michael quickened his pace. “I only choose interesting subjects. You caught my eye immediately.”

“You are a pervert, aren’t you? God—I should report you—”

“I will pay you.”

That caused Michael to stop. He spun on his heel, cheeks red and his entire being appearing flustered. “Do you think I’m a whore?!”

Lucifer still remained calm, an amused look on his face. “No,” he started slowly. “…But I usually tend to pay my models for their time.”

The blush on Michael’s face deepened. “Oh,” he said.

“So will you?”

The brunet considered this. “…How much will I be paid?”

“Fifteen an hour.”

Michael closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “…Fine, I guess—”

“Great,” Lucifer interjected, walking past Michael. “Building D, room 445. Be there tonight at 8pm.”

“I have class until 7:30—wait, Prof—” But the blond waved his hand and turned around the corner, leaving Michael standing alone on the sidewalk in the cold and sudden silence.

That was, until the university clock chimed and he realized he still wasn’t at class, and Lucifer Fucking Milton left, not escorting him to his class like he promised. Michael clenched his hand around his cup in his anger, and the lid popped off, hot latte spilling all over his hand and shoes and the sidewalk. The fucking douchebag!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can also find this fic on my writing blog on tumblr: <http://amadrabbles.tumblr.com>

He had never been late to any of his classes before. Michael was the type of student who always had perfect attendance, always made the Dean’s List. He would much rather lose his weekends and breaks suffering through sickness than he would missing class, so he always powered through when he felt a cold coming on.

Needless to say, it was for this very reason why Michael was embarrassed to walk into his historical literature class that day, red faced from both the cold, and humiliation.

(After class, Michael apologized and explained the situation, and even though his professor didn’t mark him tardy for it, he still felt ashamed. He _knew_ he had been late.)

The rest of the day, however, went along smoothly and Michael remained focused through Roman history, religious studies, and choir, with a brief, 45 minute break for a late lunch. Of course, he had to ask where the art department was, being unfamiliar with the building, and of _course_ it was almost on the other side of the campus. He rolled his eyes but glanced at his watch before tugging on his scarf and mittens. 7:40. He had twenty minutes to get to the art department for his modeling session for Professor Milton, and he was sure he could make it on time.

But if he was honest, he really did not want to go. It wasn’t as if he had agreed to the time set by the infuriating blond—really, who did Professor Milton think he was? He had no consideration for the fact that Michael might want to grab dinner!—but he sighed. Michael couldn’t bring himself to be late for anything, not even appointments with douche-bag art professors. He shrugged on his coat, grabbed his bag, and started heading toward Building D.

Of course, when he finally made it there, ten minutes later, he realized he had forgotten what room Professor Milton wanted him in. He blushed, and attempted to find one of the offices, but the brunette lady there was only able to tell him where Lucifer’s own office was. He thanked her, headed up to the fourth floor, and scoped out the room.

He found it soon enough, but it was dark and empty and appeared to be in almost total disarray, to which Michael scoffed. He waited a couple more minutes, thinking Professor Milton might show up, but when it was three minutes to 8pm and there was still no sign of him, he started walking around the floor, peeking into as many classrooms as he could, though many of the doors’ windows were blocked by a thick sheet of black paper and many more were locked. He almost gave up, until he tried the last door down the hall and it opened up.

Professor Milton was standing in the middle of the classroom, fussing with the display he had set up. There was a beautiful Victorian styled fainting couch, a deep burgundy color. It was adorned with many plush pillows of the same color, with several gold ones as well. A shimmering, gold silk throw with tassels was draped over the armrest furthest from the pillows. Beside it was a bedside table with drawers and a vase full of roses, and a few books and candlesticks on the floor, surrounding the two furnishings. Several drawing boards and supplies tables surrounded the set, but only one had a few extra items beside it. Michael thought he spotted a dirty rag, but he didn’t get much of a chance to scrutinize before the blond glanced to him, then above his head. “…You’re late,” he said.

Michael looked at his watch, and felt his cheeks grow warm with annoyance. “By a minute,” he snapped. Lucifer only smirked and stood up straight, smoothing out his pumpkin colored button-up.

“Did you get lost?” He asked, eyes sparkling behind those browline glasses.

Michael huffed. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

The smirk on the blond’s face grew, as he teased, “I trust you won’t get lost finding the changing area, over in that corner?”

“I—wait, what?” Michael stuttered. Maybe he didn’t hear that right. “Changing area?”

Lucifer stared at Michael, almost in an unbelieving manner. “…Are you seriously that directionally challenged?”

“No!” The brunet said, flustered. His blush only got worse when the blond’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. “Changing area? What do you mean by that?”

Professor Milton blinked, then spoke very slowly. “A changing area is where you change out of your clothes…”

Michael wanted to punch him. “Stop being so obtuse! You know what I mean,” he hissed.

Blue eyes sparkled with mirth and Michael hated how it got under his skin. The bastard probably knew how much it riled him up, too. “Actually, I don’t. Do you care to extrapolate?”

“Who the hell uses the word ‘extrapolate?!’”

“Who the hell uses the word ‘obtuse?’”

Michael was sure he was bright red by now.  He was clenching his bag tightly in his hand, and was only a couple of seconds away from turning around and walking back out the door, when the blond took a step forward and removed his glasses, squinting.

“You’re modeling for me, Michael, as a life model. To be straight-forward, I would like for you to be nude. The changing area is to afford you some privacy, so you won’t feel like you are stripping. There is a coat rack and a table back there for you to store your clothes; a robe is hanging up, freshly laundered.” Lucifer pulled a microfiber cloth from his pants pocket, and started to rub his lenses with it. “I’ll be setting up my supplies, when you come out, disrobe and lay there,” he nodded to the couch, “and I’ll adjust the room’s temperature to your liking. We’ll start with shorter, more comfortable poses, working you up to those in which you will be still for a long while.”

Michael was now blushing for an entirely different reason. He knew that modeling for an artist most likely meant being nude, but having it said so bluntly made it all the more taboo to him, for some reason. But those icy eyes kept staring at him, and Lucifer didn’t budge a single inch until Michael sighed and headed over toward the changing area. “$20 an hour, you said?”

Lucifer gently pushed his glasses back on his face, laughing. “Nice try, kiddo. I said $15 an hour.” But he hummed gently to himself as he headed over to the wall of cupboards and cubby holes while Michael stepped behind the plain, portable partition.

It was a little surreal to him. It still hadn’t hit him that he was going to be modeling—in the nude, no less—but he placed his bag on the table and took off his outerwear, hanging his coat and scarf up on the coat rack, and then he carefully unlaced his boots before he nudged them off with his toes. He put his socks in each shoe. Sweater and button-up came off next, and he neatly folded those items and set them on the table before he popped the button on his jeans, hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and boxer briefs, and shimmied out of the last pieces of clothing that were keeping him modest. Those items got folded up, too, but it still didn’t phase him.

At least, not until he had the robe tugged on and he stepped out from behind the partition into the expanse of the rest of the classroom, and Lucifer was sitting in front of his drawing board, a stick of charcoal in one hand and a knife in the other, watching as he shaved the utensil to a point, catching the black dust in a bowl. Michael gripped the front of his robe tightly, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

The blond looked up, and Michael expected a leering, appraising glance, but Professor Milton did no such thing. He was casual, and nodded his head toward the couch. “Go ahead and disrobe and take a seat. Recline against the pillows, and put your arm on the armrest. I’ll grab the robe from you, adjust the room’s temperature, and we’ll begin. Sound good?”

Michael nodded, but it took another moment before he finally walked over to the luxurious couch and did as he told. He felt way too exposed, way too vulnerable, and when Lucifer calmly came over and took the robe, draping it over his arm, Michael stiffened.

Professor Milton seemed to take no notice as he set the robe behind the couch, out of sight, and asked Michael, “How’s the temp?”

The brunet shrugged, covering his crotch modestly with his free hand. “…It’s a little cold,” he said. The sound of boots walking away alerted him that Lucifer was heading to the thermostat, and there were a couple seconds of silence before he heard Lucifer walking again. He appeared in Michael’s line of vision, right before him, and Michael looked up.

“I’m gonna tousle your hair, if that’s alright with you.”

Michael felt his heart speed up. He didn’t like this sort of power dynamic—he was naked and young and vulnerable and out of his element, and Lucifer was tall and towering, clothed and older and in a place of complete familiarity—and it was unsettling. Michael almost wanted to stand and force Lucifer to his knees, to regain some sort of dominance, to feel more comfortable—his lips moved. Michael blinked.

“What?”

Lucifer sighed. “May I?”

Michael didn’t know what Lucifer was asking permission for, if he was completely honest with himself. He hadn’t heard the man speak since he asked how the temperature of the room was. But he refused to seem stupid, along with every other thing he had going against him in regards to the situation, so the brunet shrugged. “Sure,” he said.

And then icy hands were in his hair. Michael was startled, and he nearly jumped, but he barely contained it. Green eyes flickered up to a studious face as goosebumps bloomed all over his flesh. Eyes squeezed shut and he stiffened, muscles tense, and he bit his lip…but Professor Milton’s hands were surprisingly soft and soothing and gentle. His long fingers didn’t tug on his hair, nor did his nails scratch his scalp. It was like a really good head massage, and Michael’s eyes quickly blinked open, as he stared at the man again. Lucifer’s face was neutral and serene.

He paused, taking a half step back to look at his work, then nodded to himself before he retreated to his easel. Lucifer sat down and adjusted his seat, then peeked over the large-sized sketchbook at Michael. Only then did his eyes flicker to Michael’s crotch, noticing the man was covering it up with his hand, but it was not that on which he commented. “Relax, Michael,” Lucifer said, voice soothing and low. “You’re too tense.”

Michael glanced at Lucifer, nodding just slightly, before he inhaled deeply. He waited, then slowly exhaled, forcing himself to relax. He repeated this a few times until he heard the other man hum.

“I’ve got the timer set to five minutes. When it goes off, feel free to sit in a different position, or adjust so you are more comfortable. We’ll do this three times, then move on to one fifteen minute pose, one half-hour pose, and one hour-long pose, and that should be good for today. Are you ready?”

Michael exhaled again and nodded, and Lucifer started the timer. He settled back in and grabbed a stick of charcoal, and Michael stared at him as he started to sketch away, the _skritch skritch skritch_ of the utensil on the slightly rough paper almost rhythmic. Blue eyes constantly glanced at him, but it was quick and barely lasted more than a couple seconds. Michael relaxed even more.

Before long, the timer went off. It was a very non-intrusive beep, but it was enough to grab their attention and Michael got into a more comfortable pose (though he still kept his hand modestly over his crotch) while Lucifer reset the device. He flipped to the next page in his sketchbook, and then resumed drawing. About a minute later, when they were both comfortable and the room’s silence became too much to bear, Michael made an attempt at conversation.

“How long have you been drawing?”

“Don’t talk, you’ll break my concentration.”

Michael huffed. “How long have you been drawing?”

Lucifer’s icy eyes tore up to his face, his expression blank. “How old are you?”

“…Twenty-three—“

“Since before you’ve even been a fertilized egg in your mother’s loins, or a squirming sperm cell in your father’s scrotum. Now please, don’t talk.”

Michael blushed furiously. “That’s incredibly rude!”

“You asked.”

“You could’ve said that you’ve been drawing for more than 23 years, like a _normal_ person!”

“I’m not a normal person. I am exceptional.”

“Exceptionally horrid.”

A small smile cracked on Lucifer’s face. “But that’s still not normal, is it?”

The brunet huffed, and it appeared as if he was about to make another comment, when Lucifer interjected. “I’m pretty sure I told you to be quiet. No more talking, please.”

Michael’s jaw snapped shut, but when the timer went off a few minutes later again, he flipped Lucifer the bird. “Asshole,” he muttered.

The professor sighed, not restarting the timer just yet, and he stared at Michael with an exasperated expression. “Look, if you want to leave, you can. I’m not gonna force you to stay. I _can’t_ force you to stay.”

“You say that as if you _would_ force me to stay if you could.”

“You’re handsome and a fine subject to draw, if not for your reprehensible personality making things terribly difficult.”

“You’re one to talk,” the brunet snapped. “You’re awful. You’ve been nothing but a dick to me all day. You were creepy, made me late to my class, made fun of me when I arrived, and you’re saying _I’m_ the one with the bad personality. Take a look in the mirror. You’re nothing special, you’re a crummy, piece of shit artist who is stuck teaching at a university with a dying art program, because you’ve never made it big, no one wants what you have to offer!”

There were several beats of silence. And Lucifer just stared at Michael with the calmest of expressions and the brunet suddenly felt like the biggest dick on the planet. Where had that come from? It was incredibly childish, and he was never cruel like that, but yet…he just intentionally tried to hurt him. Michael shrank back a bit in his seat, ashamed.

“Hey, sorry, I didn’t—“

“Please don't talk,” Lucifer said gently, eyes diverting. “I’m going to restart the timer now. That is, if you still would like to model for a crummy, piece of shit artist.” He looked up at Michael, his blue eyes fierce, and Michael couldn’t say no.

He meekly nodded.

“Great. Just this last five-minute pose before we move on to the fifteen-minute one.”

He started the timer, and Michael was still, his shame persistent in coloring his cheeks, eyes uncharacteristically glossy. He did nothing but listened to the gentle _skritch skritch skritch_ of Professor Milton sketching away.

He wanted to apologize, but at the same time…he didn’t. Not after his first attempt was rejected. He supposed he didn’t want to risk irritating the man even further.

(But Professor Milton would probably give him his money and shove him out the door once their session was finished, and he would probably tell Michael to never come back, so the brunet didn’t know why he was worried about the possibility of irritating him to begin with.)

Michael sighed, nearly readjusting again, before he caught himself.

And he never took his eyes off Lucifer. Not because he was worried the man would do anything, but because Michael himself couldn’t do anything _but_ that. Though, he would be lying if he said watching him wasn’t at least a little interesting. Those intense blue eyes, constantly flickering up to glance at him were nothing short of captivating, and…perhaps Michael’s mind was just playing tricks on him, but he could’ve sworn just moments before the timer beeped again, they held each other’s gaze for several seconds, neither moving.

That was, until Lucifer set down his stick of charcoal, cleared his throat, and stood, strolling lazily toward Michael and staring down at him.

Again, the brunet felt vulnerable, and he unconsciously drew his legs closer together.

“For these longer poses, you’ll need to be in a more comfortable position,” Lucifer said, plucking a couple excess pillows from the couch and gently setting them aside. “Lay down with your arms on the arm rest, and your head on top of them. Angle your torso toward me, and bend the knee of your left leg. Keep your right leg extended.”

But Michael didn’t move, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. “…If I do that, won’t you see my…” He didn’t want to say dick or cock. Those sounded too vulgar, especially around a professor. Penis sounded too weird.

“Genitals?” Lucifer offered, as if he could read Michael’s mind. The brunet blushed, only confirming the blond’s suspicions as to his subject’s nerves. He shrugged. “I’ve seen plenty of genitals, both male and female. Comes with the trade. If you’re worried about it being sexual, it won’t be. Think…Leonardo Da Vinci’s drawings of the human anatomy. Non-sexual, just drawings. Scientific, of course—not what I am personally after, but…I won’t be ogling you; I’m a professional.”

It wasn’t good enough for Michael, though. “…I’ve only had someone looking at my cock when we were about to have sex. So forgive me if I feel uncomfortable.”

Lucifer blinked. “…Well…in order to have sex,” he said slowly, “both people need to be naked…”

“Oh, shut up!” Michael said, though his tone was not angry. He blushed. “I just…”

“You’re nervous. Michael, you don’t have to be. I promise you I’m not a lecherous old creep whose goal in life is to prey on attractive models.” Michael appeared unconvinced and he opened his mouth to voice his reservations, but Lucifer cut him off and held up a hand to yield. “…However, if it would make you feel more comfortable, we can take that blanket right there, drape it over your right thigh and cover your genitals, and tuck the corner under your arms. It would create some really nice folds, anyway, so I won’t oppose if it will make you feel more secure.”

Michael nodded, breathing a sigh of relief, and Lucifer grabbed the golden, silk throw and unfolded it, handing it to the brunet.

“Go ahead and get into the pose I told you; I’ll make any adjustments if necessary once you’re settled,” Lucifer said before he turned his back to Michael.

The brunet stared at the blond’s back for a moment, then to the silken fabric in his hands, cold to the touch, before he shifted and did as he was told. But even with the blanket covering him, he still felt too exposed. Michael gripped one corner of the blanket tightly in his fist and stiffened up before he breathed out, “Okay.”

Lucifer turned to face him again, quickly glancing over Michael’s sprawled body, then took a step forward with his hands held up. “I’m gonna reposition your arms a little bit, okay?”

Michael nodded, watching those pale hands gently touch his forearms. Goosebumps bloomed over his flesh when cold fingers trailed past his elbows and curled around his biceps, gently easing them into a position that wasn’t so manual and robotic. Michael gripped the blanket even tighter, and Lucifer paused, before he lightly touched the brunet’s fist.

“Relax, Michael,” he murmured. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Forest green eyes flickered up to meet glacial blues, stoic, until he noticed the slight warmth to Professor Milton’s small smile. The tension left his body immediately, and Lucifer’s smile widened a fraction before he turned away and headed back to his desk. He sat down, picked up the timer, and adjusted the time, hit start, and then set it back down.

Michael blinked slowly as he watched Lucifer turn to the next page in his sketchbook, and he attempted to catch a glimpse of the drawings on the previous page, but it was too distorted and the light was shining too much in his eyes for him to see properly. Within seconds, Lucifer was sketching again, and within minutes, the sound started to lull Michael into semi-unconsciousness.

He barely registered the timer going off.

Lucifer hummed, setting the stick of charcoal down and wiping his fingers off on the rag beside him. “Don’t fall asleep just yet, Michael,” he teased, pushing his glasses up his nose, but he had missed a bit of charcoal on his fingers and now had a smear of black on his face. Michael held back a laugh.

“I’m not,” he said, stretching a little bit and shifting onto his back, one arm behind his head while he rested his free hand on his stomach. Michael sighed and closed his eyes. “Like I’d even want to fall asleep in a room with you.”

Michael heard a snort, and peeked an eye open just on time to watch Lucifer turn to the next page in his sketchbook. “You may not want to, but I predict you will.” He stared at the brunet, but did not come over. Michael assumed that meant his current pose was fine. “But after this pose, we will take a break for stretching, a mini massage, water, and a small snack. And when you’re ready, we’ll move on to the last pose of the night—the hour-long one. You’ll get dressed, I’ll pay you, and you can head on home.”

“That’s it?” Michael asked, blinking.

“Of course.” Lucifer gave the student a puzzled expression. “What, did you expect something more?”

“I—” But the brunet stopped himself. He blushed. “No,” Michael finished, rather quickly.

An eyebrow rose on the face of the professor and Michael braced himself for whatever verbal taunt was going to be slung his way. Sure enough, Lucifer fluttered his lashes, then asked, “What? Do you want a goodnight kiss?”

“No!”

“Not even a tiny peck?”

“N-No!”

“Are you sure?”

“No—yes! Fuck—“

Lucifer laughed. “Flustered, Mr. Shurley?” he asked in response to the brunet covering his face with his hands.

“Eat a dick.”

“Is that supposed to be insulting?”

Michael peeked from between his fingers, only to see that Lucifer was being serious. “…Wait, are you gay?”

“No,” Lucifer said, crossing his arms and looking amused. “I had a wife. She’s a heart surgeon. Kinda ironic, isn’t it?”

“Was she unable to fix your blackened one?”

Lucifer laughed, but Michael detected… _something_ hiding beneath it, like Lucifer was keeping a deep, dark secret, that he was guarding it with humor. “I suppose that’s why she left, yes.”

“And not because you’re secretly gay?”

“Not at all,” he said, expression softening. “I loved her. Still do, I suppose. We need each other, but we’re just not…compatible.”

Michael stared at Lucifer, but the blond offered no further explanation. He wisely decided not to push it, and the professor started the timer again—a sign to his ending of the conversation.

He tried to not let his mind wander too much, but he also tried to not focus on just one thing, lest he doze off again. So Michael let his gaze land on Lucifer, eyes flickering over the features that were not obscured by the drawing board. Smart shoes, which he guessed used to have a nice shine to them, but were now dulled from what he imagined could only be use and charcoal. He wondered if Lucifer had a shoe polishing kit at his home.

Green eyes continued their trail up.

Even slightly hunched over, Michael could see that Lucifer’s shoulders were broad, and while his button-up fit him fine in the chest, the sleeves seemed a bit tight around his arms. Perhaps he had defined muscles beneath? He wouldn’t doubt it—he was sure carrying pounds upon pounds of supplies and setting up displays all the time would give his arms quite the workout.

The curve of his thin pink lips was slightly downturned, cupid’s bow soft and—he moved on, eyes flickering to the man’s nose, where there was the smudge of charcoal, and browline glasses slowly sliding down his bridge once again—the man was a mess, Michael determined. He needed to shine his shoes and tailor his clothes and wash his face and get his glasses adjusted and those soft-looking lips needed—blue eyes flickered to him, and Michael’s thoughts paused.

They stared right at each other, Lucifer’s gaze intense, before it dropped down again and Michael exhaled the breath he didn’t know he had been holding in those few seconds. He decided he was going to stop looking at Lucifer.

His gaze fell about the room, examining the setup; there was a chalkboard with a schedule written upon it in neat cursive, albeit the script was tilted at a backhanded slant, something Michael found a bit unusual.

He wondered how the poor sap named Sam Winchester was coerced into modeling for someone the likes of Lucifer. Michael nearly snorted, then stole a look at the teacher’s desk. It was made of mahogany and it was relatively neat; there was nothing special about it, save for what looked like an image that appeared to have been drawn in blue crayon, in the bottom right corner. He squinted, but couldn’t make it out. He supposed it must’ve been old to be that faded, but he didn’t dwell on it. There was a comfy looking chair and a mini-fridge behind it.

…But before long, despite himself, he couldn’t help the occasional glance back at the man himself. After all, he was…worried? He knew it wasn’t fake—he kept checking—…”it” being the look of complete sorrow in those icy pools. The brunet vaguely wondered if that might’ve had something to do with their previous conversation. Michael thought so.

The thought crossed his mind to ask; despite his intense dislike of the professor, Michael had a kind soul, and couldn’t stand seeing others hurt or suffering. He hated the look of devastation on anyone, including Lucifer Fucking Milton.

So he opened his mouth, ready to offer his shoulder, when the timer went off. Michael blinked, and Lucifer closed the sketchbook, right as Michael closed his mouth.

“Break time,” Lucifer said, clearing his breath and standing up. He cracked his knuckles and stretched, before he strolled over to Michael. The brunet instinctively drew back when the blond bent over, but he merely picked up the robe and handed it to the young student. “Go ahead and put this back on. I’ll turn my back to you; let me know when you’re ready, then sit back down on the couch and I’ll give you a mini massage to loosen up your muscles.”

Michael blushed nodded and Lucifer smirked, though his demeanor was not playful like it was earlier. Again, Michael wondered if that was his fault, but Lucifer turned his back to him and he didn’t feel like apologizing anyway. He pulled the robe on and tightened it around himself, thankful for the modesty, before he finally murmured, “Okay, I’m ready.”

Lucifer turned back around and sat down behind him. Michael sucked in a breath when he felt the dip of the couch, and he could practically hear the professor rolling his eyes. “Relax,” Lucifer said, for what was surely the hundredth time that night.

And, well…Michael did. For a blinking moment. But he tensed back up when those hands were on his shoulders, squeezing the muscle beneath those fingers.

“Are you sure you’re not gay? This is awfully intimate,” Michael blurted. He heard a sigh.

“This is only intimate if you want it to be, Michael. And I’m sure I’m not gay.”

“You are absolutely positive that you were not faking being straight when you were married to your ex-wife?”

“Positive. I was not faking being straight. She knew from the beginning of our relationship that I was bi.”

Michael blinked. “So you _do_ like guys!” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” Lucifer said bluntly.

“You lied to me!”

The blond was not amused, and he dug his fingers hard into a particularly tight knot. Michael yelped. “I do not lie,” he hissed.

“You said that you didn’t like guys!”

“I never said anything of the sort. I said I wasn’t _gay_. Big difference.”

Michael shrugged Lucifer’s hands off his shoulders and turned to face him, green eyes hard and interrogating. “…So you _were_ flirting with me?”

The blond smirked. “Gross. Why would I flirt with a punk-ass kid with an attitude? What, do you think that just because you have a gorgeous body and I asked you to model for me, that I would be serious about flirting with you? You’re nothing special, Michael.”

It shouldn’t have hurt. He didn’t know why it hurt. But Lucifer’s words stung like a slap to the face, and Michael shrank back a bit, the look on his face one of disappointment. “You said you wanted to give me a kiss. Forgive me, but that seems like flirting to me.”

“I asked if you wanted a goodnight kiss in addition to everything else when you asked ‘is that all?’ to the schedule I laid out for you. Learn the difference between teasing and flirting, Michael.”

The brunet bristled, feeling unreasonably upset. “You’re an ass. I thought—”

“—that I was flirting with you. I got that part, Michael. Clear as day. And you are apparently very devastated upon the realization that I wasn’t.”

Michael wanted to scream. He opened his mouth to retort, but soon found icy fingers on either side of his jaw, squeezing, and equally icy eyes boring into his own. Lucifer’s eyelids drooped and Michael’s pulse accelerated.

“…If I was flirting with you, Michael, I’d make a point to ask if you were single. If you affirmed to me that you were in fact single, I would then make sure my words were sensuous and my tongue make you swoon.” He released his grip on Michael’s jaw, his fingers trailing down the brunet’s neck and collarbone. Michael shivered once Lucifer drew away. “I’ve never asked you if you were single. And I don’t give a shit.”

He was dazed. Stunned, more like it. He was hurt and angry and Lucifer’s words oddly dug into his own self-confidence and tore it to shreds. He shouldn’t let it affect him. Michael knew that whether or not a 40-something year old asshole found him worthy of being hit on had no bearing on his own personal worth. But it still did. And Michael hated that that affected him.

His jaw stiffened and his green eyes hardened into something cold. “It’s no wonder your wife divorced you,” he said, coolly. “I’d rather shoot myself than to be married to the likes of you. Your wife was lucky that she managed to escape, though how you managed to convince her to marry you in the first place is beyond me.”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes, but said nothing as he shoved himself off the couch and stormed to the mini fridge. Michael scoffed. He couldn’t believe that a grown-ass man was throwing a tantrum, and he crossed his arms over his chest. He heard Lucifer returning and he looked his way, a scowl on his face, but he was not expecting a water bottle and a chocolate bar to be shoved against his cheek.

“What the hell?!”

“Eat. Drink. Shut up and don’t talk for the rest of the night, you self-absorbed prick.”

Michael scoffed indignantly again. “ _I’m_ a self-absorbed prick? Talk about the pot calling the kettle black. I’m shocked that you even have a job. I should report you!”

“Did you not hear me? I told you to shut up.”

“Why should I? You’re acting like a three-year old throwing a tantrum!”

But Lucifer only seemed to snap. Michael thought the man was going to stab him—he was reaching into his back pocket to pull out something and Michael squeezed his eyes shut, expecting the worst, but a hand shoved against his chest and immediately pulled away. He opened his eyes and looked down and saw a $20 bill.

“Leave,” Lucifer hissed, returning to his drawing board to start packing everything up. “I won’t stand being insulted any further.”

Michael stood, glaring. “Oh, but it’s okay for you to insult me? You have the mind of a child, _Professor_. Do you know what a child is? Or are you too stupid to know?”

The blond visibly stiffened, started shaking, and Michael opened his mouth to continue, but he stopped when Lucifer turned to face him, and he saw nothing but pure agony on the man’s face. Michael was taken aback. “I had a daughter. She was beautiful. Looked so much like her mother, but she had the brightest blue eyes. I wouldn’t know what a three-year old throwing a tantrum would be like. She never made it to her third birthday. So to answer your question, _Michael_ , yes. I do know what a child is. I _am_ a self-absorbed prick. My wife _was_ lucky to escape me. I have the blackest of hearts and I don’t give a single fuck about it.”

They stared at each other for a few beats, Michael stunned and suddenly feeling wrenching guilt, and Lucifer looking as if he was just barely holding back tears. The brunet blinked when the blond turned his back to him again and continued packing up. Michael didn’t know what to do. “…Professor—”

“Leave.”

Michael shut his mouth, and obeyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Love it? Like it? Hate it? Leave comments and let me know!_

**Author's Note:**

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